


Aftermath

by buttercups3



Series: Bonding Lessons [2]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Rimming, Smut, Some angst, fmm, heavy on the Rass and Miloe, oral and anal (duh?), sequel to Safeword, the morning after a bondage session with Miles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Rachel thought a night of domming with Bass was strange, the domestic bliss of the next day might be stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> You probably need to read Safeword to get this, but if you don't, just realize that Rachel and Bass spent the night before consensually whipping Miles.

When Miles rouses, Rachel’s luminous, golden mane completely obscures what he decides is essentially a sorority-girl, morning-after face plant on his chest – just take out the alcohol and replace it with sadomasochism. He can even feel the wetness of a little drool dribble down to his nipple, sending a shiver of pleasure to his morning wood. He’s got both arms around her in a kind of headlock that makes him surprised she can breath. Bass’ arm is flung over her back so that his fingers just graze Miles’ ribs on the far side. Bass’ perfectly perky ass appears to be the only thing fully awake around here. Miles glances under an eyebrow at the clock. 9am. _Shit_. He was supposed to be overseeing training an hour ago, but of course, no one wakes up the man at the top of the chain of command. He just looks like a prick who was too hungover to get out of bed on time. He reaches across Rachel to pat Bass on the butt with an echoing smack.

Bass tastes cotton and then realizes it’s hair – Rachel’s pine-fragrant waves migrated into every crevice. He unthreads it from his tongue before opening his eyes onto scalding light. Attempting to shade himself with an arm, he makes out Miles’ dark eyes sparkling at him.

“Good moming, sumshine,” Bass mumbles and feels somehow like he’s coming off a night of binge drinking, when all he really did was fuck the hell out of Miles. _Mmm._ And it was wonderful. Speaking of: “How’s your ass this morning, gorgeous?”

Miles shakes his head slightly but responds with a yawn, “Pull the drooler off me, and I’ll check.” 

Miles lightly removes Rachel and hands her to Bass, who willingly receives her, clasping his arms across her breasts in an X. She yawns and declines to open her eyes. Bass watches Miles stretch indulgently into the air, exposing deliciously dark underarm hair. Rachel’s so squishy and pillow-soft, it only makes Bass want to drift back to sleep. Miles grins at both of them – a rare sight – and reaches back to touch his ass. 

It’s crusty – more likely from Bass’ seed than blood. He flings his endless legs out of bed and stumbles fawnlike toward Bass’ vanity. Dipping a rag into a pan of water, he reaches back between his butt cheeks to clean himself and there spies a mosaic of bruises from last night. Frowning, he realizes that two sets of sky-blue eyes are regarding him.

“Admiring your handy work, assholes?” Miles complains. 

“We’re admiring your asshole, asshole,” Bass assures, as the sleepy Rachel collapses backward against his neck and mumbles incoherent reluctance to participate in this conversation. 

Finally Bass makes out from her: “How often do you guys do this?”

Rachel deeply inhales Bass’ leathery spice and hears Bass rumble into her hair, "Not often enough."

“Well, I’m exhausted,” she declares.

Miles threads his legs into his uniform. “Well, _I_ feel great. But that’s kind of the point.”

He slicks back his raven hair with Bass’ comb, as Bass pulls Rachel completely back down onto his chest and closes his eyes.

“Let him have his moment, Rachel.” A glorious spread of perfect white teeth nearly blinds her, as she looks up and snorts.

For the life of her, she can’t figure out how the morning after what they did last night can be this weirdly domestic and comfortable. She might be alarmed by how much she feels she fits in, but then Miles distracts her by appearing before them. He’s fully dressed now – General Matheson right down to his knee-high riding boots. No one would ever guess he’d been cock-whipped by his president and their prisoner last night. 

“You kids enjoy your lazy asses in bed all day. I’ll go train our militia and shit.” 

Miles squishes in his mouth a big gulp of water from a glass on Bass’ nightstand and swallows it, entirely refreshed. He bends in to kiss Rachel on the lips and then Bass.

 _How does Miles always taste like whiskey?_ Rachel wonders, while Bass thinks, _Mmm, whiskey_.

“You two look so fucking appealing that if I weren’t so dedicated to my job, I’d take you both in an ungentlemanly fashion. I want a raise, since I actually do work,” Miles hollers over his shoulder as he opens the door upon an orderly. He snatches the ornate wooden tray and waves off the wide-eyed intruder, before he can see inside. “Breakfast,” Miles announces unnecessarily, plopping the tray on Bass’ nightstand, before absconding with all the bacon. 

The door clicks shut, and Rachel feels exceedingly alone with the man breathing evenly into her back. There was something different about last night with Bass. They were almost like equals, though that must have been just a clever game.

Bass decides he’s hungry and scoots up the bed so that he is sitting with Rachel tucked between his legs, comfortably pressing into his junk. She’s soft and warm, and honestly, he could just give up and never get out of bed again. She could totally conquer him without him even realizing it. Maybe despite all the fuckery between him and Miles, Miles is the safer lay. Bass always knows where the limits are with Miles. Besides, Miles is so gangly and sharp, Bass has to kick him out of bed half the time before morning. 

Rachel has pulled the tray over her sheet-clad hips and studies it for a moment. Miles and Bass have collected the finest things in the capital – she wonders if they even appreciate their own treasures. Carved into the tray’s edges are dainty cherubim with little dicks that almost make her giggle. Bass reaches around her with both arms to peel an orange – zingy and fresh-scented as the morning. Rachel tears off a corner of a flaky croissant and nibbles. 

“What’s that top report say? My fingers are all juicy,” Bass asks, pointing at the papers beside the checkered napkin.

Rachel scans the stack and clears her voice to provide the reader’s digest version: “November 1. There was a disturbance in Westchester last night – some reports of errant gunfire – non-Militia. And in Albany, some citizens refused to pay their taxes. They’ve been issued a warning.”

“Those fucking ‘no taxation with out representation’ turd wads again. I’m tempted to send in big, scary Miles to personally level the place,” Bass sniffs, apparently offended.

Rachel glares at him, and he shrugs: “Who was involved in the disturbance in Westchester?” 

“It doesn’t say.”

“Shit. That I _will_ have to pass along to Miles.” 

“Will he have to go there?”

“He’ll probably just send some men.” Bass smiles. “What, are you getting attached to us, Rachel?”

“No.”

“You just don’t want Miles going anywhere.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s okay. It’s very bonding: bondage.” He snorts. “Miles is always extra affectionate for days after a good whipping. It’s the only time he’s not a world-class prick. Orange?”

“Thank you,” Rachel collects a slice from between Bass’ long fingers and lets the cool citrus slip down her throat. As she takes another, she accidentally drops it onto her chest, and it slithers down between her breasts. Bass retrieves it and pops it in his mouth with a half-smile.

“What do you have to do today, Bass?”

His voice vibrates her ear from behind. “Well, once I’m done in here,” (she cocks an eyebrow at him), “I’ll take reports in my office. And then paperwork. All fucking day. You want to assist?”

She swallows her surprise at being asked to actually do something useful. Perhaps things _have_ changed between them. She nods, almost afraid to speak and break the spell.

“Good. It’s dull as hell, and Miles will find any excuse in the world not to push papers with me, the twat.”

Bass’ expansive hand is still resting against her breast. He traces the outline for a spell and takes a swig of coffee. She pries the mug out of his hand and sips it. _Real coffee._ Another perk of life in the capital city.

“So…last night,” she begins.

Bass’ hand wanders down her belly toward the V of her legs to stroke her curls. “Mm.” He kisses under her earlobe. “What about it?”

“Does he ever tie _you_ up?”

“Huh, huh,” Bass chuckles. “No, what would be the point?” He signals at the tray, and she removes it to the floor. “I’m always tied up in knots for him.” Bass’ voice takes a plunge for the forlorn, and Rachel abruptly turns to read his face.

“And I’m always tied up for both of you. _Literally_ ,” she replies.

Bass scoffs. “If only, Rachel. Frankly, you concern us.”

“Oh? You two talk about me?" She rolls over to face him so that her knee pins his balls. She feels them draw in closer to his body and his cock twitch. “What do you say about me?”

“That you probably can’t be trusted.”

“Then why do you fuck me?”

Bass reaches for her wrists and binds them together with his elegant fingers, stretching her arms overhead toward the headboard.

“Because it feels too good to stop.” Bass swallows. “Well that and Miles loves you.” 

Rachel snatches her wrists away, the playfulness taken out of her sails. 

“That’s not what he said when he broke it off.” 

“Yeah, well he’s a liar.” Bass’ voice is light but his eyes are sad. Suddenly, he flips her over and draws her hands up over her head again, kneeing apart her legs and sliding his fingers down her bum until he prods vagina. He pushes in.

“Uh. And what about you, Bass?” Rachel inches backward, forcing his fingers up and in. 

He’s panting like he’s the one being invaded. “What _about_ me?”

“You love us, too?”

Bass pulls out and pushes her so that she’s on all fours, and he’s just breathing on her entrance from behind.

“You both know how easily I love.” His chest pinches when he admits what he knows is true. Anyone can stick pins in him – she and Miles both do. He thrusts aside that train of thought to focus on the glorious pink cunt in front of him.

He dives in now and starts licking, separating her folds with his warm, slightly rough tongue, flicking just inside. The more she moans, the harder he pushes. She’s making more noise than she wishes she would, and as soon as she reaches down between her legs, she comes, clenching, clipping Bass in the nose. 

He sinks down and rolls over onto his back. Rachel pants for a moment, and then it dawns on her: she’s never gone down on Bass outside of Miles’ presence – indeed has never brought Bass off that way at all. She always leaves that to Miles. But suddenly she is intrigued. She haltingly guides her lips over the ridges of his chest and abdominal muscles until she hits dark blonde curls – that heady scent of Bass – and opens her mouth to take him in. Bass thrusts lightly in her mouth, and all at once, she’s determined to finish him. She jacks him quick and hard and for the first time, tastes his salty release. She’s not entirely sure she could tell their cum apart – Bass’ and Miles’.

“Uhh,” he gasps gratefully, as he watches his seed dribble back out of her lips.

She deflates onto his stomach then, as he strokes her hair silently. Finally, it dawns on him – that sinking in the pit of his belly.

“What day did you say it is?” he asks.

“November 1. Why?” 

“Nothing.”

But Rachel instantly discerns his lie.

* * *

Hours later, Rachel is helping Bass copy reports – him at his desk and her at the long table - pausing now and then to gaze out the window at a colony of rabbits nibbling the grass. Once or twice she thinks of pointing them out to her companion, but he’s been near silent since the morning, knotting his brow and pounding whiskey like she might coffee when pulling an all-nighter in college.

Finally, there’s a distinctive knock at the door, and Miles appears – towering and splattered with mud – his boots tracking footprints across the expensive rug. The brown eyes flick to Rachel and then to Bass, who hasn’t even glanced up to greet him.

Miles clears his throat and grunts, “Bass. C’mere.”

Bass doesn’t feel like looking at Miles, doesn’t feel like revealing what Miles expects to find in his eyes: that it’s November 1, the anniversary of the day Bass lost Shelly and the baby. He just wants to be left to suffer it privately. He’s tired of his own melancholy. Tired of being a broken record of pain.

But Miles is waiting with his hands on his hips, so Bass clinks down his whiskey and walks over to the front of his desk, leaning backward on it with his arms folded. He shrugs at Miles: _what?_

“Been wanting to fuck you all day,” Miles explains openly, his body crackling with energy. “Now turn around.”

Rachel jerks in her seat. Miles never says it like that to her. She watches rapt as Bass indeed turns around, and Miles wrenches open Bass’ fly and yanks down his pants with lurid gusto. Bass kicks off his boots and bottom garments, so that he can spread himself wide, and Miles sets to work, tonguing him open. It’s quite…pornographic, and Rachel is a bit taken aback by how physical the boys are with each other when she’s not involved. Frankly, she’s not sure she could bring herself to taste someone like that. But Miles seems totally enraptured by Bass’ body, and Bass keeps grabbing at things on his desk to steady himself. When she fears the Tiffany lamp will break, she decides it’s time to intervene.

While she’s divesting herself of her pants and panties, Miles threads his long cock into the trembling Bass. She then slides herself between Bass and his desk and hops up, opening her legs. Miles is fucking Bass hard enough that he keeps slamming precariously forward, so she reaches out to steady his smooth chest. (Somewhere along the way, Miles managed to wrench open the jacket of Bass’ uniform.) 

“You two are as horny as a pair of teenagers. How many times a day do you do it?” she quirks a smile, reaching for Bass’ dick.

From between gritted teeth Bass’ hisses, “You shouldn’t have trouble keeping up. I thought women peak in their thirties.”

Miles pants, “I must not be pounding you hard enough if you can still talk,” and redoubles his efforts with such violence that a huge bead of sweat rolls down Bass’ temple and splashes onto Rachel’s thigh.

Rachel has to shake her head at how dirty this is, but decides to make the best use of the equipment in front of her: the silky head of Bass’ penis. She flicks it against her clit like he’s a dildo – a delicious, twitching dildo.

Miles is beginning to see black and rakes his fingers up the back of Bass’ neck, burying them in the blonde curls, then scattering them upward as he thrusts into a bottomless climax.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Miles exclaims, coming hard, relishing the depth he’s achieved inside Bass.

The sound of his accomplishment sets Rachel off, and she uses (possibly abuses) Bass to send herself to a spirited finale, her juices drenching the desk beneath her bum. She breathes through her nose for a moment and then opens her eyes. 

Miles arms are craning around Bass, one grabbing hold of the neglected cock against her thigh. She and Bass reach for it at the same moment, and all three of them pull on Bass together until he satisfyingly squirts all over Rachel’s thighs and the papers on his desk.

“Uhh,” Bass melts into all those fingers and then sinks back into Miles, who releases his dick to support him with an enormous hand. Bass looks down and realizes for the first time that Miles has unbuttoned his blouse - the other hand pressed right over his thundering heart.

When Miles finally lets Bass go, he leaves a smear of mud on Bass’ chest.

“Aw, you made him dirty,” Rachel comments, pushing them both back, so that she can retrieve her pants. 

“He came that way,” Miles retorts, collecting bits of clothing off the floor.

As they right themselves, Bass asks Miles, “Have you had anything to eat today?”

“Just the bacon off your breakfast tray.”

“Jesus, you have disgusting eating habits. I’ll get Benson to bring you something. Anything in particular you want?”

“Nah, whatever’s around. Thanks.” Miles’ eyes follow Bass as he slips out the double doors, no doubt with Miles’ seed trickling down his pant legs.

Miles has his hands back on his hips when meets Rachel’s intense gaze. _What?_ His eyebrows ask.

“I never realized how much of an old, married couple you two are.”

Miles swings down into a seat at the long table and props up his legs, yawning. He should throw down a comeback, but you know, she’s not wrong, and working in the sun all day has leeched his will to spar. He scratches his stubble instead.

“Is Bass okay, Miles? Ever since he asked me what day it is, he’s been…brooding.” 

Miles glances at his dirty fingernails and ponders for a moment how to respond. He’s not about to tell her the extent of Bass’ sorrow. What good would that do any of them? “He’ll be okay. I distracted him.”

He can feel the blues eyes continue to penetrate him, until he finally gazes up. “You care?” he asks with a touch of exasperation.

Rachel snaps her mouth shut. _Do I care about Bass? Do I care about you for that matter, Miles?_ _The men I spend my nights fucking and even whipping…and now my days lounging in bed over breakfast and serving as secretary for._

“No. I don’t.” 

Almost infinitesimally, Miles shrugs.


End file.
